


i'm not like a regular mom, i'm a cool mom

by CordeliaRose



Series: Morey Appreciation Week 2020 [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Boys Being Boys, Interrupted, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaRose/pseuds/CordeliaRose
Summary: Five times Corey and Mason get interrupted doing…stuff, things, shenanigans, tomfoolery, you know, just boys being boys, plus one time they don’t.For Morey Appreciation Week 2020, Day #7: Dealer’s Choice.
Relationships: Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt
Series: Morey Appreciation Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123970
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	i'm not like a regular mom, i'm a cool mom

**Author's Note:**

> the end of the week already? what the heck?  
> this week has gone by super fast and honestly i'm proud of myself. my writing schedule is non-existent so for me to post seven days straight, even if those posts are not very long? it's impressive and also the only thing about me that is straight.  
> anyway, i love y'all very much. i like this one. i hope you like it too!

**i. fire may not be a person, but it can still be a cockblock**

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Corey informs Mason. Sure, it’s a little cramped, there’s a broom handle digging into his back, and his eyes are stinging just a tad from the odour of bleach in the air around them, but it’s so worth it.

Mason is a little too preoccupied to answer, his fingers scrabbling at Corey’s belt buckle. His eyes are squinted and his pupils are wide in the dimness – the bare bulb above them is casting a pitiful amount of light over the janitor’s cupboard, but it’s somehow also harsh and hurts to look at it for more than second – but he’s successful after a few moments’ struggle, and crows victoriously as he wars with the next obstacle – Corey’s jeans.

Corey, for his part, is being supremely unhelpful – he just leans back against the wall, makes a concerted effort to ignore the broom handle next to his spine, and closes his eyes as Mason wins the battle and tugs at the waistband of his boxers.

An electronic drone cuts through the heavy air. Two short buzzes, a pause, repeat. “Is that,” Corey begins, as clamorous footsteps and general chatter filter through the cupboard door. The noise of a student body.

“The fire alarm,” Mason confirms, dropping his head to Corey’s stomach with a deep groan. “I swear, if someone set fire to their chemistry experiment, I’m going to gut them.”

Corey helps him to his feet, pushing from the wall and doing his best to make himself look like he wasn’t just being undressed in a janitor’s closet instead of going to third period. At least he brought his bag with him, which he can now strategically position in front of his crotch. Nothing to see here, folks, please divert your attention from my bulge.

“Rain check?” he offers. He was quite happy to skip out on whatever class he was meant to be in, but this was Mason’s only free period and it will take a force greater than his own mortal wiles to drop Mason’s attendance below a hundred.

“Rain check,” Mason promises, unbolting the door and opening it just a crack to peer out. Satisfied that everyone’s too concerned with their own drama, and the excitement of an unplanned fire drill, they slip out and join the throngs of students dawdling their way to the parking lot.

* * *

**ii. i’m not like a regular mom, i’m a cool mom**

Mason sneaks them out of the living room and into the pantry in the early hours of the morning. The pack doesn’t notice – pack nights at Scott’s readily devolve into drinking, Mario Kart tournaments (which Lydia and Mason have to arrange leagues for and work out the scoring of, it’s a whole process and it’s ridiculous and amazing), and teenagers stumbling to random rooms in the house to pass out sometime after midnight. Even as Mason drags him through the dining room, Corey catches sight of Stiles under the table, and Theo perched perilously midway up the stairs.

“This pantry is so much nicer than my own,” Corey muses, as Mason eases the door shut and flicks the light switch. “I would have loved being locked in here when I was a kid.” Who says humour isn’t a healthy coping mechanism for PTSD stemming from childhood neglect?

“Is this okay? I didn’t even think about that. Do you have pantry trauma?” Mason has consumed enough wine to be deadly serious in his questioning. Corey, who elected not to drink tonight so he could witness the general insanity of everyone else slowly unravelling, isn’t feeling malicious enough to tease him. He just nods and gravely assures his boyfriend that he has no pantry trauma.

“Good,” Mason says, and starts kissing him as soon as he’s finished speaking. That works.

Five minutes, or five hours, somewhere in that ballpark, a rush of blinding light threatens to burn his eyeballs right out of his sockets. A figure is silhouetted in the pantry doorway, light from the kitchen flooding past them. Perhaps a celestial figure, appearing with the blinding grace of the heavens – oh, it’s Ms McCall.

“I came to get more snacks,” Melissa says, after a Mexican stand-off of awkward silence. “But, uh, do you guys need anything?”

_A hole in the ground would be nice_ , Corey thinks to himself. Before he can voice that though, Melissa is producing something from her pocket – oh, it’s a condom, isn’t that perfect, Corey absolutely doesn’t want to die from embarrassment.

Mason – sweet, darling Mason, who has imbibed far more alcohol than recommended – is suffering from no such affliction. “Oh, we have enough, thank you,” he informs Melissa quite cheerfully, then turns to the shelving unit behind him. “What snacks do you want?”

Corey can’t quite believe this is something that’s actually happening in his life right now. He listens and processes with faint horror as Melissa points out what she needs, and Mason trots them over to her, and then she leaves with two crinkly bags and shuts the door after her, and Mason turns to him with horny optimism.

“Absolutely not,” Corey reprimands, “I feel like my mom just walked in on us. Which is weird, because I think if my actual mom walked in on us I wouldn’t really care that much, in fact I’d probably laugh about it and say it was payback for everything she put _me_ through. But right now I just want a shower and to forget this happened.”

Mason nods solemnly. He’s probably not sober enough to understand what Corey’s saying, but he seems to pick up on the word ‘shower’ and steers him upstairs to the guest bathroom while making little reassuring noises.

* * *

**iii. did you have to pick this time to be a responsible adult**

Corey’s relationship with his parents is rocky, to say the least. Both sets of grandparents are dead – three of them died before he was even born, as did all of the great-grandparents. His dad is an only child, and his mom has a sister. He can count the number of times he’s seen Aunt Skylar on one hand, though she always remembers to send him a birthday and Christmas card, and she was the one to set Corey up with his own bank account when he turned thirteen. She still wires twenty-five dollars over on the first of every month, with a little note saying ‘For my favourite nephew’.

Aunt Skylar is the polar opposite of his mom in many ways – she’s an incredibly successful neurosurgeon, so highly regarded in her field that she doesn’t have a house. She travels nearly every month, bestowing her knowledge and surgical talents on a new hospital or university, and has won three awards at the age of thirty-seven.

In many other ways, the familial ties are easy to recognise. Aunt Skylar likes to party, from the little Corey knows about her. Competent though she may be while twiddling around in someone’s brain, outside of the operating theatre she’s a major fan of anything that alters her own brain chemistry. Corey doesn’t really care – she doesn’t have anyone to take care of, unlike his own parents, so if she wants to put away a thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine in one night, why the hell not.

But all of that is to say – Corey barely sees Aunt Skylar, the last time being two years ago, and she’s as feckless as every other adult related to him. So he’s really not expecting her to barge into the house on a Wednesday afternoon, when Mason is quite literally _inside him_.

Despite his human-grade hearing, Mason hears it first. He tilts his head to the side, and frowns, says, “I swear I just heard your door open.”

Corey is about to tell him that he must have heard wrong, that’s ridiculous, who would be opening his door? Sure, his neighbourhood is…rough around the edges, at times, but they’ve never had a break-in before, and his parents are in Arizona for work until May. But then –

“Corey! Hi, it’s me, Skylar! I was passing through the area so I thought I’d drop in and see you, make sure you’re getting on alright, you know. Where are you?”

“Who’s Skylar?”

“My aunt,” Corey hisses, “so if you could maybe extract yourself from me, that would be fantastic.”

“Oh, yep, sorry, on it.”

* * *

**iv. is that a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me**

“I can move the seat back, hang on.”

“You don’t have to, I can – I mean, I’m flexible—”

“ _Yeah you are_. How’s that?”

“Better, actually, thanks.”

Getting Mason’s trousers undone and tugged down just enough is a joint endeavour, and there’s definitely not enough space in the car for this because Mason nearly kicks Corey in the face twice in one minute, and he wasn’t lying when he said that he was flexible but a footwell is still pushing it a bit.

But then the stupid trousers are out of the way, and Corey can get down to some way more important matters at hand. At mouth, too.

It’s all going swimmingly – this isn’t Corey’s first rodeo, nor Mason’s, but it’s their first rodeo in such an enclosed space. It presents some novel and interesting challenges, but it allows Mason to have a _Titanic_ -esque moment when he slaps his hand against the fogged-up window and drags it down. The movement probably wasn’t planned but it is very Mason, and Corey appreciates the dramatics of it.

And then.

“Do I want to come over and knock on the window?”

“Oh my God.” Mason quite literally jumps in his seat at the unexpected interruption, which could have had some rather unpleasant consequences if Corey’s marginally faster reflexes hadn’t already warned him to pull away.

“That’s the Sheriff,” Corey says. “Of course it’s the Sheriff. This isn’t humiliating at all.”

“He’s going to tell Stiles about this, and then Stiles is going to tell everyone else.”

Well, if the Sheriff’s arrival hadn’t already grabbed the mood by its neck, strangled it, and then mutilated its remains afterwards, that sure has. As does the frantic scrambling for the next thirty seconds – Corey trying to clamber into the passenger seat without a flailing limb catching anything, ahem, delicate, and Mason futilely cursing how tight his trousers are.

Everyone decent, Mason rolls down the window. “Hi, Sheriff,” he greets, forcing a smile that one might see on a hostage victim with a gun at their head. Corey can relate.

“Boys.” Sheriff Stilinski looks like he’s enjoying this situation as much as they are. “Normally I’d be calling your parents, but…”

Corey hears Mason’s heart stutter over the next few beats – his parents definitely wouldn’t be mad, and would probably just tease them over the ordeal for the next few days, so he’s worried on Corey’s behalf. Aw, what a nerd. Corey wants to kiss him.

The Sheriff is checking his watch, “…I’ve only got half-an-hour until I’m off-shift, and honestly I just can’t be bothered. Get home, both of you.”

“Yes, Sheriff,” they chorus. The Sheriff heads back to his cruiser, Mason starts the car, and Corey can’t do much but laugh. It’s either that or cry.

* * *

**v. not even the gays are safe from deviancy**

It’s getting ridiculous. Fine – the janitor closet at school, that always had the potential to go wrong. The pantry at a friend’s house? Not that secure, he’ll concede defeat on that one. His empty house? That should have been no problem, but then his estranged aunt turned up for the first time in almost a decade. And Mason’s car – maybe not that secure again, but they’ve never encountered any kind of patrol before.

Corey is a teenager, dammit – he is horny and he has been interrupted far too much.

So when the opportunity presents itself, he’s not exactly going to say ‘oh, no thank you, I’m simply not in the mood’. He’s going to seize the opportunity, along with the diem, and milk it for all it’s worth. And he’s definitely never going to use that word choice again, either.

The locker room is empty. Blissfully, blessedly empty. Everyone else has showered, changed, and headed home. Corey was on the field for an extra ten minutes after practice, searching for an errant ball that was eventually located and retrieved from a hedge, so he’s alone, except for Mason, who helped him search for the ball and then followed him into the locker room so he wasn’t waiting on the bleachers like a weirdo.

The shower just seems like a hazard – in a major design flaw, the tiles are slippery even when they’re dry, and the water is liable to alter itself by an arbitrary number of degrees just because it fancies a change. Shower sex is all fun and games until someone cracks their head open or gets second-degree burns.

The bench it is then. One moment Mason is sitting there, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he ostentatiously doesn’t watch Corey get changed, and then he finds himself with a lapful of chimera. Not that he registers any complaints.

Neither of them care about romance, not after the past two weeks of disruptions – it’s all messy grinding and licking into each other’s mouths from the off, ignoring the creaks of the bench underneath them. If it wants to break, that’s not their problem.

“For the love of God!” comes an all-too familiar voice. “I thought you guys were meant to have standards.”

Corey’s hands tighten a tiny bit around the fabric of Mason’s jacket as he imagines how cathartic it would be to squeeze the life from Coach Finnstock. Mason is distracted by a different issue.

“’You guys’?” he repeats. And there’s his first mistake – trying to make sense of anything Coach says. “Do you mean gay people?”

“Of course I mean gay people! Have you ever met a straight person with morals?”

“A few,” Mason says uncertainly.

Corey is quite happy to let him take point in this conversation. It gives him the freedom to contemplate braining himself.

“Then they weren’t straight,” Coach says, tone brokering no room for debate. “Unless they weren’t white. Or a man.”

“You have a point,” Mason concedes thoughtfully, like being straddled by your boyfriend while having a philosophical debate with said boyfriend’s neurotic lacrosse coach is normal. “I don’t think I’ve met a straight white man with morals.”

Coach taps his forehead. “You get it,” he says earnestly, “but seriously, stop it. Go home to fornicate.”

* * *

**vi. the house is empty but so are my energy reserves**

The problem is that they currently don’t have homes available to fornicate in. They usually hang out at Mason’s house, because his parents work long and irregular hours, but they’ve each taken a couple of weeks off so they can spend some time together, and with “their boys”. Corey loves Vanessa and Benjamin Hewitt more than he does his actual parents, and they are delightful, but their presence is awful and inconvenient.

They’ve exhausted their other options. They tried the school, the car, the locker room, the pantry, Corey’s house, and the universe smote them at every turn. It’s clearly a message to stop being so horny and just accept that they have to be celibate for two weeks, but if the higher powers could have said as much to Corey’s hormones, it would be greatly appreciated.

So after fourteen days of springing inappropriate boners, not being able to look several authority figures in the eye, and the discovery that neither of them are exhibitionists, Corey feels like throwing a party when they return to the Hewitts’ after school _and it’s empty_.

“Bedroom?” Mason asks, stripping off his jacket and flinging it in the general direction of the coat tree. It’s the thought that counts.

“Sofa,” Corey counters, because it’s closer and therefore quicker. The one between the bookcases is unofficially theirs, too, so nobody else will have to unknowingly wallow in their sin afterwards.

Mason must see the sense in this, because he doesn’t put up his usual protest about mattresses providing better lumbar support and how much nicer they are on the knees, just strides into the living room and yanks the curtains closed.

Kissing Mason, touching Mason, being touched _by_ Mason – after such a long time, it’s transporting Corey straight to his own personal paradise. He’s practically euphoric, but he can’t help –

“Did you just yawn?” Mason asks incredulously.

“No,” Corey defends automatically. “Maybe. Just a little. Practice was really tiring.”

Mason shifts back, as far as he can with Corey’s fists gripping the back of shirt like a vice. “I’m sorry that I’m not entertaining enough,” he proclaims, mock-haughty, and valiantly fights a grin against Corey’s pleas for forgiveness. “My ego has been bruised irrevocably. My dignity as a man is wounded beyond repair.”

“No, no no no, I’m sorry,” Corey begs, crooking his legs around Mason’s so he falls back on top of him. He’s laughing too hard to kiss him like he wants to and Mason is similarly afflicted, burying his head in Corey’s neck until his giggles subside.

“Do you want to nap?” Mason offers.

Corey makes a small noise of disagreement. His limbs are heavy and one of his eyes is twitching erratically, but he absolutely refuses to let his body fall asleep.

“Do you want to just lie there while I do all of the work?”

“Oooh, that sounds good. That one, please.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mason says fondly, and leans back to pull his shirt over his head. Oh, Corey can get behind this. Or in front of this, or whatever position Mason desires.

(Corey definitely doesn’t fall asleep. But if he does, it’s only for a few seconds. And Mason doesn’t seem to notice, so even if that hypothetical situation does occur, it’s all fine.)

**Author's Note:**

> [please go here to visit the official morey appreciation tumblr that's running this morey appreciation week!](https://moreyappreciation.tumblr.com/)  
> and a big shoutout to idk-ilike5sos for beta'ing this for me! you can find her here on [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idk_ilike5sos/pseuds/idk_ilike5sos/) or [tumblr](https://idk-ilike5sos.tumblr.com/):)  
> you can also talk to me on [tumblr](https://cordelia---rose.tumblr.com/) or check out my [fandoms sideblog](https://cordeliarosebutfandoms.tumblr.com/)  
> and as always, kudos & comments are dearly appreciated <3


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